


Salvation

by KendylGirl



Series: The Alchemy of Butterflies [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Boys Seriously In Love, Lust and Fluff, M/M, Protectiveness, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 13:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16682506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendylGirl/pseuds/KendylGirl
Summary: The 2018 Governors Awards are the first big occasion for the boys as an official pair.  They make it through the night as they do with all things: together.





	Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> Just when I had gotten into a serious groove with the next chapter of “Just My Luck,” these two have to go and be adorable at another function and hijack my entire imagination once again. What’s my poor heart to do??
> 
> Now, I have studied the pictures, the short video of them on the red carpet, and the brief clip of them with Elizabeth Debicki (whose personality and relationship with Armie Hammer are completely unknown to me) like I’m preparing to testify before Congress. This story is my take on it.
> 
> My extremity of gratitude only grows for the fabulous Willowbrooke, who both calms and inspires! You are AMAZING!

“How do I look?”

I’m sitting on the end of the bed, bent double running a sticky roller over the legs of my pants.I hate lint, especially when it stands out on black fabric, and these pants seem intent to draw every stray fuzzball in Los Angeles.“Like you’ve just been properly shagged,” I throw back, insistent thumbnail picking at a stubborn line of hair imbedded around my hem.

I hear a naughty chuckle like lazy bursts of a machine gun loaded with Nerf.“Yeah, ok, you’ve got me there…that’s…yeah, that’s for sure…”A gurgle.“But no…seriously, dude, is this…does this really look all right?”

I sigh and finally raise my head.

 

He’s standing in the doorway of our suite’s enormous bathroom.When we’d arrived, I’d joked we could play water polo in the Jacuzzi tub.He’d leapt up on the rim of it and extended his hands to the ceiling, stretching his frame out and making his ripped jeans slip down to the points of his hip bones.“You bring a ball?”His head was tipped back, voice echoing as a low taunt, half his face lost in the shadows of the hat still smashed on his head, the one he thought would carry him through the lobby unrecognized.But he doesn’t realize that even the barest wisps of his curls around his jawbone, the pout of his lips, the twitchy movements of his elegant fingers when they hang unprotected at his sides, would be enough for me and half the population of the world to pick him effortlessly out of a crowd.He doesn’t realize that his every detail is that impossibly delicious.

He doesn’t understand that he’s a poem, a collection of perfect words and artistic phrases that pile up in your mind and dribble down into your heart until it overflows, a vivid dream that exists in our waking lives as evidence that God exists, somewhere.

So I’d stepped over to him, my face level with his sternum, and wrapped my arms around his thighs, ran my hands up over the tight swell of his ass to the satin skin of his back, buried my face in the rumpled t-shirt that he’d slept in the night before and wore straight onto our flight, and inhaled slowly.“Part of a set, actually.I never leave home without them,” I had tried to quip, but I’d already lost the edge of my humor, and the exhale that followed had come out as a heated groan pressed into the soft fabric, like a prayer, like a confession.

_Shit_ , I had thought vaguely, _he fucking_ owns _me_. 

I had felt his hands dig into my hair, twist around my neck.I couldn’t bring myself to move back, and instead, I had scraped my face up his chest, the shirt bunching around my chin, to look up at him. He had bent his head back down, and his eyes were hooded and serious, hovering inches above mine, holding me on a pin, riveted to the spot.But his mouth had been curved up at its ends, just that barest hint of wickedness that made me absolutely mad for him.

“Yeah?” he had whispered.“Then _prove_ it, old man.”

I snapped.

It’s a fog after that. 

Tossing him roughly over my shoulder, the rush of his breath in my ear, the rip of my hair as he yanked off my shirt, the clank of my belt as he ripped it from its loops in one pull.I remember his hands on my shoulders, shoving my back on the mattress; I remember the lightning behind my eyelids when he lowered his face and sucked on me like he was trying to move a golf ball through a garden hose, and I could feel the helpless scrape of, “Jesus _Christ_ , Tim,” as it coughed from the back of my throat.I was sure I heard my needy whimper when he pulled off and rose above me, pale and perfect, eyes as black as midnight, and sank slowly back down, engulfing me completely inside of him, making my fingers clench so tightly to his flesh that a constellation of purple dots would remain for days after.I lost myself for long periods inside his mouth, trying to taste every part of his tongue whenever he would swoop down and hang open-mouthed over my face, how he would hold my gaze and hold my wasted heart, until I couldn’t hold back anymore. 

But, in the end, I remember it all.I remember how the slow roll of his hips enslaved me, how his slick skin would squish when he would grind against me, how the subtle grooves of his muscles reflected light and shadow when he would lean back and grab my thighs and babble curse words at the ceiling.

I remember feeling that weightless euphoria and shouting his name.I remember him folding into my neck afterward like he wanted to hide there.I remember him panting, “I love you I love you I love you I love you,” like it was the oxygen in his every breath.

I remember that it was me.

 

He’s turned off the light behind him, so he’s subtly framed by the grey shadows against his dark slacks and jacket, but it makes the ropes of white etchings that curve beneath his shoulders and along his torso glow an ethereal light, the triangle of white at his right hip the gate to Heaven.It’s tailored and snug to his every curve, and it’s capped by folds of silk at the collar, so his long neck is flanked by something nearly as soft as its skin.

“Armie?”

The plaintive tone rouses me, makes me realize I’ve simply been staring blankly with my jaw ajar, mouth dry as tinder.

“Come here.”My voice crackles, rough at the edges. 

He shuffles over, tugging fitfully on the bottom of his left cuff, chewing on the inside of his cheek.He hangs a few feet away, shoulders drooping, so I open my knees to coax him closer, inside the cage of my legs.I reach out and grab both of his hands and give them a light squeeze before I finally have the courage to meet his eyes.

“Tim.”It’s all I can get out before a surge chokes me, makes me swallow down the miles of ribbon, the thousand words I have no voice for. _I’m proud of you and you’re the most talented person I’ve ever known and you saved me and I would die for you and you’re sweet and kind and too perfect for me and you make me laugh and I love our home and I love that you drink milk out of the carton and I have to force myself to stop thinking about you and you should run and I would die if you did._

I tighten my grip on his hands and stand slowly.His eyes look between mine for a moment, and he abruptly relaxes.His expression softens, and he just nods.

He knows.I knew he would.

 

* * *

 

 

In the car, he taps on his legs, a drum beat to whatever song is running through his head at the moment as we inch along through the stream of bodies just outside of our windows.I run my finger around the rim of my collar and fiddle with my bowtie.I think I’m sweating, though the air conditioning is on.I poke my fingers at the vents within my reach and turn them all to my face. 

Suddenly I feel cool fingers around mine, pulling them down to my lap.He reaches up and makes a couple of calculated tugs to the bow.“Smooth,”he murmurs.The car brakes, but he waits to catch my eye before giving me a gentle smile.“Perfect.”

With a final squeeze of hands, we step out onto the pavement.

It’s chaos, but wonderfully, not because of us.There are simply too many of the fabulous people in one spot for anyone to bother too much with the old story of the two actors who decided to shack up together.Still, I hadn’t known what to expect; this is our first appearance together after our news broke, and I have been worried.I wasn’t worried about Tim—he rolls with just about anything—and I was in no way embarrassed or intimidated by all of the homophobic bullshit—fuck them, if that’s what they think.Truthfully, I was worried about me and the devil inside me known as My Temper.I had no idea how people would respond, neither the press nor our esteemed colleagues, and I knew that if I caught even a single, solitary _whiff_ of someone mistreating him—shunning him or making snarky comments to him or shooting him nasty looks—because of _us_ , I feared I would lose it, in a very loud and very ugly way.My fuse is not long on a normal day, but tonight, all it would take is one spark, and I would explode.

The tide of the press takes us in opposite directions,and we end up walking the gauntlet slightly apart from one another.I force myself to be patient, digging my thumbnail into my index finger as a distraction.I can feel that my body language is off. I’m stiff and awkward, and it is only a matter of time before someone shouts out something to me that will go horribly wrong.

There is a reporter along the fence line gesturing wildly to another guy with a video camera.He looks back at me, directly into my eyes, and then makes a twirling motion with his finger.The camera’s red light pops on. _Oh. Shit_.Just as I’m about to turn on my heel and bolt inside, there’s a blur to my right. _What the hell?_ I whip my head around, poised for action.

It’s him.

He's crouching, and he skulks up to me like a clown, enormous grin blooming on his face.He collides with me, and his hand slides naturally onto my lower back.

It breaks the spell.

I wilt, curving my body in an arc around him, relief coursing through my veins like bath water.It is reflexive to smile then, to mirror his own back to him.He points to the reporter and his camera guy, laughing open-mouthed at the man’s stolid glare and nodding to several others down the line.His hand around my waist tightens briefly, and he quips, “I’ve got you,” from the side of his mouth while patting me on the chest a couple of times, right below my heart.

When he tries to slide away and give me space, I can’t let him go.I lunge after him, gasping, “Wait!”

He freezes and pivots back toward me, still beaming. _You’re so beautiful_.It is all I can do not to grab his face and kiss him, right there in front of the world press, and I bite my lip to squelch the intense need.

I bend my face toward him, and he turns his ear to my mouth, away from the invasion of the shouting voices.“You’re a fucking miracle, you know that, right?”

“You’re ridiculous.”His grin amps another thousand watts.“And I really love you, man—you know _that_ , right?”

And then he was gone, sliding back to where he’d been, and when I turn to face the asylum of shutters and flashes, it’s with the first genuine smile I’ve worn all night, and I wonder if the fireworks in my brain can be seen in the captured images that follow.

 

* * *

 

 

The evening is amazingly ebullient.I don’t know if it is relief or the extra glass of champagne or the compliments I’ve gotten about my films.

_Oh, go fuck yourself, Hammer.You know what it is_.

I crane my neck around and finally see him across the room, blushing feverishly as he talks to Laura Dern, whose hand is outstretched to clasp his forearm, eyes wide.Her mouth moves non-stop, and I am certain she is gushing about his performance.He is a huge fan of hers, which is a blessing and a curse.He would love the praise, but from expert practitioners of his craft, it only makes him more uncertain because even after all of the award nominations and wins he’s racked up already, he still doesn’t quite believe that he deserves it, still hesitates to trust himself and his innate talent that could level virtually everyone else in this room.

I weave around the clusters until I’m just feet away.When he sees me, he immediately jumps back to pull me forward, and that’s when I see Elizabeth striding towards me.Jesus, do I look this towering to everyone else on the daily?She is statuesque, her expression is unreadable, and it sets off alarm bells for me.Is she pissed?Has she been talking to my ex and is ready to ream me a new asshole?I grit my teeth. _Say your peace to me, Debicki; I suppose I’ve earned it.Just leave the kid alone_.

“Hi.Come here often?” she offers breezily.

I shrug.“Only about once a year.”

She smirks and turns her gaze to Tim, who’s watching our exchange now that Laura’s disappeared into the sea of bodies.His eyes are wide, and when she looks him up and down, he grabs her hand and blurts out, “Hey, I know I don’t _know_ you or anything, but I have to tell you that you…God, you were just _so good_ in _The Night Manager_.Wow, this is so amazing to get to meet you.”

I look at him, his eyes glassy, cheeks freshly pinkened.He’s sincere.Of course he is.He’s Tim.

“Thank you,” she says slowly, pumping his hand a few times.“Thank you very much.”She pauses, assessing him from behind cool blue lenses.“So what’s a nice kid like you doing with _this_ guy?”She jerks her head in my direction.

“Cute, Debicki,” I roll my eyes.

“Him?”Tim smiles innocently.“Oh, he’s my lover.”

Her jaw drops. 

I burst out laughing.

It is hard to believe it’s possible, but I’ve never loved him more than at this moment.

“Wait, did you mean he’s your _Oliver_?”

Tim’s smile could melt the sun.“He’s that, too."

**Author's Note:**

> No matter how many times I post my works, there will _never_ be a time that I am not biting my nails and utterly desperate to know what your thoughts are. I beg you to have mercy!


End file.
